


Conjugal Visits

by ikeracity, Pangea



Series: The Associates [7]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mob Boss Erik, Prison, Prison Sex, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea/pseuds/Pangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Erik and Charles finally get married does not exactly go the way anyone involved ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We get asked a lot about how and/or if Charles and Erik will ever be married in this 'verse, so here is the answer! As a small disclaimer, the law & due process are being fudged a _little_ bit for the sake of plot, but the good news is New York is one of the four states left in the US that still allows conjugal visits. ;)

 

“I don’t understand,” Charles says after several long seconds of loaded silence. He’s staring down at the paper Azazel has slid across the table, reading but not _comprehending_.

Directly across from him, Azazel’s somber expression doesn’t change—he doesn’t crack a grin and laugh, he doesn’t even smirk; he does nothing to suggest this is some kind of joke or prank. “All you have to do is sign. Then it is done.”

“Doesn’t this kind of thing have to be done together? In person? In front of an official witness?” Charles asks, trying to keep the hysteria slowly replacing his shock from creeping into his voice.

Azazel gives him a knowing look. “The document is already notarized. The city clerk is on our payroll. You sign, I drop it off. He files it, no questions asked, and it becomes legal.”

Charles stares at the paper. Erik has already signed, _years_ ago if the date next to his name is to be believed. The same date has already been filled out next to the blank line where Charles’ signature goes. Beneath that is the notary’s signature and seal. Everything is in order.

All Charles has to do is sign, and then he and Erik will be married.

_Married._

“Erik had this prepared as soon as his relationship with you became serious,” Azazel says into the silence. “It is just a contingency plan were this kind of situation to occur.”

“How many of the others know about this?”

“Only me. Erik was very specific. If you agree, it is solely up to you and him if and when you choose to announce your union.” Azazel cracks a grim smile, the first he’s given since he arrived. “He was also very specific about the type of punishment he would inflict if I were to leak this information out to the rest of the organization on my own.”

Charles, however, isn’t in the mood to joke. He hasn’t been in the mood to joke ever since Erik was arrested for murder two weeks ago, and has been locked up in the mutant state prison since he’d been ruled a flight risk—that, and the judge assigned to his case is notoriously bigoted towards mutants and had been all too happy to sign the paperwork that would get Erik thrown behind bars to await his trial set six months from now.

“And if I disagree?” Charles asks flatly.

“Then things become...difficult,” Azazel says hesitantly, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “You will not be able to see him for at least six months.”

“See him?” Charles sits back with a small incredulous laugh, eyebrows raised. “Why would I want to _see_ him right now? Frankly I’m furious with him, and doubly so after this _farce_.” He waves a hand at the documents on the table.

“As you know, Erik has been placed in a medium-security mutant prison,” Azazel says smoothly, unruffled in the face of Charles’ temper. No doubt he’s seen worse, as Erik’s second-in-command. “This means he’s banned from having regular visitors outside of his legal counsel, which means you can’t just visit on weekends. Your only option is to take advantage of the conjugal visits he _is_ allowed once a month—but of course in order to, you must be his spouse.”

“Conjugal visits,” Charles repeats in disbelief. “He thinks I would be willing to visit him, in _prison_ , just so he can get _laid?_ ”

“Whether or not you consummate your visits is entirely up to you,” Azazel says calmly. “Erik just wanted you to have the option.”

Charles stares at him. He was angry enough at Erik before all this, for being stupid enough to have murder charges slapped on him in the first place, but now he’s livid. If Erik thinks Charles is going to _marry him_ just because he’s stuck in prison…

The infuriating part of all this is that Charles won’t even get to yell at Erik for this for another six months, plus however long his trial goes on for until his lawyer manages to get him acquitted—because there’s no doubt in Charles’ mind about whether the charges will ever stick. Erik will be let off, whether through an honest not-guilty verdict or a healthy dose of bribery and blackmail, but by then it will have been nearly seven months, and Charles wants to yell at Erik _now_.

“Give me a pen,” Charles says flatly, pulling the papers closer to himself.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, then,” Azazel says dryly, handing over a fountain pen. While Charles angrily scratches out his signature and then shoves the documents back towards Azazel, Azazel digs around in his briefcase until he produces a small, velvet black box that he pushes across the table towards Charles. “Mazel tov.”

“Get out,” Charles says, unamused.

Grinning, Azazel tucks the marriage license and prenup papers away and stands, giving him a small salute with his tail. “I will be in contact about the details of your first visit.” Then, with a sharp crack and a small burst of smoke, he’s gone, leaving Charles to stare down at his new wedding band.

It fits him perfectly, of course.

 

*

 

Erik can’t help but pace back and forth in the quaint, if not a little sterile, room they locked him in for the visit as he waits. There’s not a lot of space—the bed takes up most of the room, and the tiny table with two flimsy chairs shoved up against the opposite wall takes up the rest of it—but Erik makes do with what he has.

Charles is coming today. Charles is coming right now. And if Charles is coming, that means he signed the paperwork Erik drew up two years ago on a whim, just to have ready and waiting.

Charles signed the paperwork, which means they’re married.

Charles said _yes._

Buried deep down, there’s a small part of Erik that’s over the moon with joy. Charles is his. And he is Charles’, till death do they part. Less hidden is the part of Erik that’s excited to see Charles, because it’s been a long four weeks without him and he’ll be a sight for sore eyes. Plus it will be the first time they’ll be seeing each other as husbands.

Charles is his _husband_. It’s a good thing no one is around and there are no security cameras installed in this room for the sake of total privacy, because Erik can’t help but outright smile at the thought, nearly giddy.

But the larger part of him, the realistic side that has a greater sense of self-preservation, is tamping down on those emotions as hard as he can. Azazel hadn’t said anything last week when he’d brought Erik the news while visiting as part of Erik’s legal team, but Erik knows Charles. More likely than not, even though he’s signed the paperwork, Charles is furious with him.

This means any sign of happiness or affection will probably be met with open hostility, something which Erik would like to minimize as much as possible. He has a lot of damage control ahead of him, but it’s still all worth it just to be able to see Charles, even if only for a few hours.

It’s nearly novel, how frazzled his nerves are for the first time in a long time. The sudden staccato rapping on the door followed by a sharp, “Move back! Hands on the wall!” actually makes him jump, and Erik shakes his head at himself in bemusement as he moves to comply.

Hearing the crunch of the lock on the door without being able to feel it move is odd, and Erik looks back over his shoulder to watch the prison guard poke his head in first to make sure Erik isn’t about to charge them down, before the man steps aside and reveals Charles. Erik drinks in the sight of him, slowly turning around from the wall as the guard gives Charles his final instructions. Charles is still all bundled up in his knee-length peacoat and scarf even though they had to have searched him at some point before allowing him inside the prison, and he’s listening to the guard and nodding along without glancing at Erik once. This is going to be fun, then.

Finally the guard leaves, slamming the door shut and locking it again, trapping them inside the room together. Charles doesn’t appear to be wearing an inhibitor like the one currently cuffed to Erik’s right ankle, but it matters little—the walls here have been constructed to resist a number of mutations, with built-in telepathy dampeners. They stare at each other for a few long moments, the silence thickening. Charles’ face is perfectly expressionless, which is somewhat better than the immediate glare Erik had been expecting, but his eyes are still flinty.

“It’s good to see you,” Erik says at last, figuring he might as well take the plunge and also because it really, truly is. If Erik had a tail like Rosie, he’d be wagging it right now. Charles is here, Charles is here, Charles is here.

Charles doesn’t answer, still sizing Erik up with his icy gaze. He has his hands tucked deeply into the front pockets of his coat, shoulders squared up and stiff.

Daring to take a couple of slow steps towards him, Erik tries again. “You said yes,” he says, because even if he does have some sense of self-preservation it doesn’t mean he can help himself, and that finally causes Charles to snap.

“By what logic did you think any part of _this_ —” Charles hisses, yanking his left hand out of his pocket and holding it up at shoulder-level height, the back of his hand facing Erik so the gleaming ring on his finger is on display, “—was a good idea?”

At the sight of the ring on Charles’ finger, Erik’s done for, all of his mental preparations to stay calm and reasonable flushed down the drain. Charles is wearing the ring Erik picked out for him because he’s married to Erik, and Erik wishes badly he had access to his powers right now, so he could run his senses over the ring over and over again, and feel out how it rests around his husband’s finger, warmed by body heat.

“We’re _married,_ ” his traitorous mouth says dreamily, and if looks could kill Erik would certainly be dead.

“You’re unbelievable,” Charles snaps, glaring at him and his voice rising in volume with every word until he’s all but shouting at Erik, “you bloody, inconsiderate asshole. I was _shot_ trying to protect you. I let myself be used as a _bargaining chip_ with another syndicate and wound up kidnapped and _tortured_ for three days straight for you. I nearly lost my telepathy _completely_ because of it for you.”

“I know,” Erik says quickly, “I know, I—”

“And now you wind up in jail like a goddamn _tosser_ , and I come to find out that this is how you planned on _proposing_ to me?” Charles snarls, letting his hand drop to ball up into a fist down at his side. “I’m just a _contingency plan_ so you can have a nice _fuck_ while you’re locked up, is that it?”

Erik winces. Perhaps that hadn’t been the best choice of words. He says with some relief, “Just so we’re clear, you’re mad at me for the ring and not the murder, right?”

“Take your stupid fucking ring,” Charles shouts, yanking it off his finger and chucking it across the room at Erik. Without his powers to latch onto it, Erik does a spectacular job of missing it completely when he tries to catch it, and it bounces off his chest and hits the floor with a soft, expensive _ping_ , rolling somewhere beneath the table. Erik knows better than to make any immediate movements towards picking it up right now. “You’re a fucking asshole, Erik, and I don’t know why I’m so surprised.”

“I _did_ think of other proposals,” Erik says weakly. “I had a few other ideas, if that’s any consolation.” Most of them had involved the yacht. Actually all of them had involved the yacht, except for this one. Unfortunate, really, that this is the one that came to fruition.

“It isn’t,” Charles snaps, fuming.

“Charles,” Erik says, taking another cautious step towards him, holding his hands out in front of him so that he hopefully looks harmless. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t even supposed to happen this _soon_. It wasn’t my intention to rush you into—”

“Really, it wasn’t your intention,” Charles says, dripping with sarcasm. “It wasn’t your intention to _rush me_ into marrying you, and yet somehow, here we are—”

“This was just a safety net,” Erik tries again valiantly, “just a failsafe I set up just in case I ever actually _was_ put away, which as you know is a daily hazard in my line of work.” Without breaking his eye contact with Charles, he kneels down and feels around on the floor underneath the table until his fingers find the ring. “I didn’t expect for this to happen, which is all on me—it’s my mistake. I originally planned to avoid jail altogether, obviously, and I never imagined that if I _did_ ever get sent to jail, it would be before I was married to you. That’s the only reason why this was a contingency plan.”

“Well it happened,” Charles says tightly, “it doesn’t matter what you _imagined_ would happen.”

At least he isn’t yelling anymore, Erik thinks, which is good progress. Slowly, he straightens, climbing back up to his feet with the ring in his hand. “I know. But like you said, here we are. I only created this backup plan to be set into motion if the unexpected _did_ happen, so we would still be able to see each other and try to work things out. I never wanted a scenario where I was in jail and wasn’t able to see you ever again, and you were left hanging on the outside, alone.”

“Let’s not kid ourselves, you’re only going to be here for six months,” Charles says, voice like acid. “I think we could’ve put our grown-up pants on and survived.”

“You signed the papers,” Erik points out. “You could’ve said no.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. “Yes, I could’ve said no,” Charles snaps, his voice starting to rise again, “and _then_ where would that have left us? We’d both be sitting with the knowledge that I said no, which would make for a _fun_ reunion come next March, wouldn’t it? It’s emotional _blackmail_ , Erik, because if I had said no I’d feel like the bad guy even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. _That’s_ the position you put me in.”

That gives Erik pause. “I...hadn’t really thought of it like that,” he admits.

“Of course you didn’t,” Charles says bitterly, folding his arms, “you don’t think of much beyond yourself in these kind of situations.”

“I _was_ thinking of you,” Erik insists, moving to put his hands on Charles’ shoulders to finally touch him for the first time in four weeks and draw him in close, but Charles angrily shrugs him off, taking a step back so he’s nearly pressed back against the door.

“Don’t touch me,” he says stiffly, his mouth an unhappy slant that Erik always hates to see.

“You have to take the ring back,” Erik says after a moment, tucking away his disappointment for now and carefully holding out the ring. He deserves the rejection, at any rate. “You can’t come in here wearing it and then leave without it.”

Without comment Charles reaches over and plucks the band out of Erik’s hand, jamming it back onto his finger and then folding his arms tightly again. Every inch of his body language still screams _stay back_ , so Erik doesn’t try another step forward again, as much as he’d like to.

“We can get this annulled,” he says, because if getting a divorce would make Charles happy, Erik would do it. “As soon as I’m out, we can file and have it done just as quickly and quietly. And you know I won’t hold it against you,” he adds quickly as Charles starts to glare again, “we can just forget about it and move on. We can get married again, _properly_ , sometime further down the line, or...never at all,” he finishes lamely, because he doesn’t like the idea. But if it’s what Charles wants…

But Charles has nearly gone white with fury. “You don’t get it,” he says, pivoting on his heel and rapping his knuckles loudly on the door, “you think this is just something small and inconsequential, like you can apply a little white out and make it go away and everything will just magically be fixed.”

“Charles—” Erik starts, taken aback as the lock in the door turns and the prison guard enters, taser already pointed at Erik threateningly, but trying to make a run for it is the last thing on Erik’s mind right now. “Charles, wait—”

“I think I’ve heard enough today,” Charles says sharply, leveling him with a cold look over his shoulder. “My _life_ isn’t something you can manipulate and twist around to suit your needs like you do with everything else, and fuck you, Erik, for imagining that it was.”

“That’s not what I was—”

Erik’s cut off by the door slamming shut and the lock crunching back into place, and then he’s alone. Charles is gone.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Erik snarls angrily, turning to shove at the table with a loud scrape to blow off some of his steam. He’s angry at Charles for walking out without giving Erik a full chance to explain, but he’s mostly angry at himself for fucking that up so badly. How is it even possible to have offended Charles so thoroughly when his entire intention had been the exact opposite?

Sinking down on the edge of the bed to wait for the next set of prison guards to show up to bring him back to his prison block, Erik takes a calming breath. This visit didn’t go so well, but maybe it’s best for Charles to have the time to cool off now that he’s had his chance to yell at Erik and get it out of his system.

There’s always next month, after all.

 

*

 

“He is not coming this month,” Azazel informs him, looking at Erik through the glass window separating them as they speak into old, plastic phones. They’ve secured the booth on the end of the long row, and no one is sitting anywhere near Erik right now.

“What?” Erik asks. “What do you mean?”

“He _will_ not come,” Azazel amends, shuffling some of his papers pertaining to Erik’s defense together to put back into his briefcase. “He doesn’t want to see you, Erik.”

“How do you know?” Erik says stubbornly.

“He indicated as much quite clearly the last time I attempted to stop by your penthouse to check on him as per your orders,” Azazel says dryly, “when he refused to let me up the elevator and spoke to me only through the lobby callbox. He had some very refreshing ideas as to where exactly you can shove your, and I quote, ‘over-inflated head.”’

“You’re a teleporter, aren’t you,” Erik says belligerently, “it’s almost like not being let into an elevator isn’t an obstacle for you.”

“Do you really think it is wise right now for you to send me to antagonize him further?” Azazel says. “My own desire of not wanting my brain turned to mush aside, I don’t think it will help your case either.”

“No,” Erik mutters. The last thing he wants is to piss Charles off even more.

“Very good,” Azazel says calmly, as if they’re discussing the removal of someone’s fingernails and not Erik’s turbulent marriage. “Give him time, _pakhan_. He will come around.”

“You didn’t see him last month,” Erik says gloomily.

“I had to drive him home after he was through with you,” Azazel reminds him. “He is very upset with you, yes, and maybe this month he is resolved to give you cold shoulder. But by next month? Hard to stay angry at someone you saw once two months ago. He will miss you. He will come.”

Erik can think of plenty of people he last saw months ago who he’d still gladly kill on sight, but it’s not like he cares about them in the same way he does for Charles. “Maybe you’re right.”

Azazel gives him an amused look. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No,” Erik says, switching back to business mode. It was laughably easy to get all the right prison guards bribed, and build up a mini task force of his fellow inmates to do his bidding, so his time behind bars thus far has been easy and comfortable, for what it is. “I trust all our operations are running smoothly?”

“There’s been barely a blip since your incarceration,” Azazel confirms. “We’re watching to make sure no one gets any big ideas while you are temporarily absent, but everyone is still too afraid to cross us after Barboza’s head made its rounds back in April.”

“Good. Any new leads on Trask or Essex?”

“The trail is still cold, unfortunately,” Azazel answers, shaking his head. “But we have extra eyes on Charles whenever we can, just in case.”

It will have to do for now. “Keep me up to date.”

“On our progress, or on Charles?” Azazel asks wryly.

Erik sighs, dragging a hand across his face. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t come here with news that he’s packed his bags and left.” It would be a lie to say he hadn’t been dreading it, waiting on tenterhooks every day for the news Charles has taken Rosie and moved out of the penthouse, or even out of the city altogether.

“Erik.” Azazel’s mouth is twitching, but he remains otherwise serious. “During your conversation last month, did you ever say the word ‘sorry’ at any point, possibly preceded by the word ‘I’m’?”

Mentally, Erik’s gone over every word of their conversation a million times. “...No.”

“Well,” Azazel says, dry as dust, while Erik resists the urge to bang his head against the glass, “next time I suggest leading with that.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Following along closely behind the guard down the long, featureless hallway, Charles considers turning around and leaving for the fourth time since he’s arrived at the prison. He has a million reasons to turn around and have Azazel drive him home—it’s the middle of December and there’s still one more week of the semester left, so he feels like he’s been in overdrive lately trying to get everything done—but only one to stay.

Well. That and he’s already gone through the humiliation of the full-body search, so he might as well stick it out for that reason alone.

The guard is silent as he unlocks the door, stepping back to allow Charles to pass by. Once Charles has stepped inside the same dingy little room reminiscent of a motel, the door closes with a dull thud and the lock resolutely turns.

Just like last time, Erik stands waiting for him. He looks like he’s faring well, holding himself just as calmly and confidently in his white inmate uniform as he does any of his expensive suits, not bothering to hide the way his gaze practically drinks Charles in. Charles stays where he is by the door, his mixed emotions only spiraling further at the sight of Erik.

“Hi,” Erik says at last. The telepathy dampeners in the walls here make the buzz of his thoughts seem far away, like a radio station with bad signal, and it doesn’t help that Charles is carefully keeping his telepathy to himself. “I’m glad you came.”

Charles takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’ve thought about it,” he says carefully, aware Erik is hanging off his every word, “and I’m still very angry at you. But...I don’t want to _stay_ angry at you.”

“Good, that’s—that’s good,” Erik says quickly, sounding faintly relieved. “I’m sorry, Charles. I didn’t get a chance to say it last time, but you should know: I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t give you a chance to say very much,” Charles admits. He doesn’t quite regret storming out, but it’s hard to deny he hadn’t really _wanted_ to listen to any of Erik’s reasoning, which is slightly unfair. Charles has had two months to cool off now, and he knows that while Erik went about all of this the entirely wrong way, his heart wasn’t in the wrong place.

“No, it’s okay,” Erik says with a tiny, cautious smile. “You had—you have every right to be angry. But I’m glad that you want to...work it out. I’m really glad.”

Charles nods, not quite trusting his voice.

Hesitantly, Erik takes a step forward. “Can I…?” he asks carefully, and Charles nods again.

A moment later Charles finds himself wrapped up in Erik’s arms, his chin resting on Erik’s shoulder as Erik buries his face against Charles’ neck, taking a deep breath and breathing him in. It feels good to be held, so Charles slowly slips his arms around Erik’s back, closing his eyes for a moment and relishing the warm press of Erik’s body against his own. As upset as he is with Erik, he can’t deny that he’s missed this. It’s been an endless series of lonely nights with just him and Rosie curled up in their king-sized bed at home.

“I missed you,” Erik says after a while. There’s no sign of his usual bravado, his cool facade—here, with Charles, he’s completely, quietly honest. Some part of Charles’ anger ebbs away in the face of Erik’s sincerity. Damn him. He knows exactly how to push Charles’ buttons, either to wind him up or cool him down.

“You wouldn’t have to miss me if you hadn’t been so stupid and gotten yourself tossed in here,” Charles retorts.

“Minor miscalculation,” Erik says absently, drawing in a deep inhale before he says fervently, “god, you smell so good.”

“You smell like prison,” Charles says frankly.

Huffing out a small laugh, Erik nuzzles his nose against Charles’ throat, making Charles shiver. “Come on,” he says, drawing back just a little to slide his hands down Charles’ front and get started on the buttons of his coat, “come here.”

Reaching up to start unwinding his scarf, Charles stands still and allows Erik to get his coat off. “I’m not having sex with you,” he warns when Erik starts to steer him over to the bed, and Erik slants a grin at him.

“Just come lay down,” he coaxes, drawing Charles down onto the surprisingly soft comforter, “you look tired.”

“I mean it,” Charles says sharply, but he goes, both of them lying down facing each other with a few inches of space between them. He chooses to ignore Erik’s second comment, because then he would have to admit he hasn’t been sleeping well at night, without Erik there to curl up with physically and mentally.

Erik folds their arms up between their chests, tangling their hands together. “No more wrist cuff?” he asks lightly, because even without his powers there’s no doubt he can feel its absence beneath the sleeve of Charles’ sweater where their forearms are pressed together.

“I got drunk and found the wire cutters,” Charles says evenly. It had been the same day he’d signed their marriage certificate, actually, after Azazel had left. It had seemed like the only appropriate response to having just illegally married a mafia crime boss who was currently in jail awaiting a pending murder trial; plus, he’d been so incandescently angry at Erik that even the mere sight of the metal cuff on his wrist had enraged him, so at the time he’d wanted it _off_. In retrospect, Charles is probably lucky he hadn’t accidentally sliced his arm open in the process.

He sees Erik’s small wince and feels a tiny tinge of guilt. “Ah. That’s...understandable.”

“I still have the pieces,” Charles says, declining to mention he’d been drunkenly considering going up to the roof and chucking them off, “maybe if you don’t piss me off anytime during the next three months, I’ll let you fix it.”

Erik conjures up a tiny smirk. “I’ll be on my best behavior, then, darling.”

They fall into a momentary silence, and Charles watches Erik stroke his thumb slowly over the ring on Charles’ ring finger. It must be killing him, to not be able to run his powers over the ring like an obsessive dragon. “Miss your powers?”

“Like an unbearable itch,” Erik admits, eyes still glued to the ring. “The first week I was here it felt like I was on a ship in stormy seas, everything felt unbalanced and nauseating.”

“Mm,” Charles hums in agreement quietly.

“How’s Rosie?”

“The other day I found her lying on the floor in front of the elevator, waiting for you to walk through the doors.”

“Poor girl,” Erik says with a small grimace.

Charles huffs. “Honestly, I can get over this whole marriage thing. _Maybe_. One day. But I won’t ever forgive you for leaving Rosie like this. She doesn’t understand where you’ve gone. She looks for you every time the door opens. Every time I go out with her, she tries to take me to where you usually run.”

“She’s going to get all the treats and belly rubs she deserves when I get back,” Erik promises.

“She deserves more than that,” Charles growls.

Guilt flickers over Erik’s expression. “I know.” He squeezes their joined hands. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Charles says vehemently, “because since you’re not there to take her with you to the office all day, she’s stuck at home by herself while I’m teaching. She’s bored and sad and _lonely_.”

“Are we sure we’re still talking about Rosie?” Erik asks after a small pause.

“I’m not above kneeing you in the groin,” Charles warns him, shifting his legs threateningly, and Erik quickly blocks him by tangling their legs together instead, effectively pinning Charles’ down with his longer ones. “Asshole.”

“I’m just doing both of us a service and protecting the package,” Erik counters, wagging his eyebrows. “We both have a vested interest in keeping it safe.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Charles mutters, but he doesn’t pull away, even when Erik gently tugs his hands over to kiss Charles’ knuckles fondly.

“So,” Erik says, “how do you want this to work? I’m game for whatever you want.”

Charles doesn’t answer right away, thinking, even though it feels like he’s been doing nothing _but_ thinking while he’s alone in their enormous penthouse. “I think it would be easiest to just stay married.”

“Okay,” Erik says, obviously pleased, but Charles isn’t finished.

“But we’re not telling _anyone_ that we are.”

“Okay,” Erik repeats carefully, less enthusiastic about this stipulation, but Charles doesn’t care.

“We can stay married in name, but we’re not acting like it and we’re not advertising it. Only Azazel gets to know, and that’s only because he _already_ knows.”

“Azazel won’t tell anyone,” Erik assures him, “he can be trusted. And he knows I’ll nail his balls to the wall if he _does_ tell someone without our permission.”

“I know,” Charles says simply. “But as far as anyone else is concerned, I’m still just your boyfriend.”

“Alright,” Erik says, but it’s clear he’s dragging his feet a little.

“You can ask,” Charles says dryly, watching Erik visibly struggle to decide if he’s allowed to ask the question Charles knows he wants to ask.

“Are we going to stay secretly married for forever, or are we going to eventually tell everyone?”

“That depends entirely on _you_ ,” Charles says matter-of-factly.

“Is this where the begging and groveling comes in?” Erik asks, amused.

“No. This is where the ‘you treating me like an actual person with my own agency for the rest of the foreseeable future’ comes in, and _then_ maybe you get to propose to me like a normal person, and _then_ maybe I say yes.”

“And then maybe we have a nice ceremony?” Erik says with one of his slow, curling smiles that reveal all of his teeth.

“A private one,” Charles decides, “but we’re having an actual, proper one. We’re not just signing a piece of paper and calling it done.”

“Whatever you want, Charles,” Erik murmurs, and Charles has to look away to avoid the outright bedroom eyes Erik’s giving him. “When does that all get to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, because he really doesn’t. Marriage hadn’t really been on the table for him at all yet, even though he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about marrying Erik one day—but always in the far-off future, _years_ from now. Erik’s occupation had always made the timetables for normal couples’ relationships seem...not applicable. “Don’t push me, Erik.”

“I won’t,” Erik says, utterly serious. “I won’t, Charles.”

“Okay,” Charles says, swallowing once to get the sudden lump out of his throat.

“But for right now, what about the rings?”

“What about them?” Charles asks blankly. He’s only worn his ring a small handful of times; the two occasions he’s come to visit Erik here—and only because he doesn’t want the prison guards to wonder, if he was coming as Erik’s husband and didn’t have a ring on—and then once or twice at home in the evenings when he’s feeling particularly morose about Erik’s absence and there’s only Rosie to witness. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn Erik already has a matching band kept tucked away somewhere, but it’s not like he can wear it here in the prison.

“We’re keeping our marriage a secret, but what about wearing our rings?”

“We’re not going to, since that would make it rather obvious.”

“What about on a chain—”

“We aren’t in high school, Erik, and we haven’t swapped class rings. We aren’t wearing them. Period.”

“What about when we’re at home,” Erik wheedles, “when it’s just the two of us and Rosie.” He squeezes Charles’ hands gently. “Give me that much at least. Please.”

Scrunching up his nose, Charles shakes his head. “No. It’ll be too easy to forget that we have them on.”

“I won’t let us forget,” Erik promises. “You know I won’t. I’ll always be aware of them. I won’t let you walk into the elevator with it on.”

“Fine. _Maybe_ ,” Charles relents, and Erik grins again because it’s as good as a _yes_ and he knows it.

“Thank you, Charles,” he says, sincere, but when he tries to reach over to brush Charles’ cheek, Charles pulls his head back.

“I’m still mad at you,” he reminds Erik flatly, “so don’t think just because I’ve agreed to stay married to you means you’re forgiven.”

“Of course,” Erik says, withdrawing his hand again.

“I had to spend Thanksgiving break alone, and now I’ll be spending Christmas and New Year’s alone too.” Erik doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving or Christmas, but in years past it’d always been nice to hole up together for the long weekend, while Charles was on break from the semester. The next three weeks Charles has completely off once the fall semester ends are going to feel particularly long without Erik, which Charles isn’t looking forward to at all.

Erik grimaces. “I thought you were planning on inviting Raven for Thanksgiving?”

“And then have to explain to her we got married, and how?” Charles says dryly. “She already knows you’re in prison, but I haven’t told her anything else. If she came to visit, she’d definitely find out.”

“Would it be such a bad thing, if people knew?” Erik asks, mouth twisting ruefully. “Is it really such an abhorrent thing?”

Yanking his hands out of Erik’s grasp, Charles pushes himself halfway up to sitting. “I swear to god if you start playing the guilt game—”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Erik protests, quickly wrapping his fingers around Charles’ wrist to still him. “I just meant that if it’s really so terrible, then maybe we _should_ get a divorce.” He looks up at Charles, no hint of a smile on his face. “Clearly this is making you miserable, and I don’t want that for you.”

“I’m not miserable,” Charles says stiffly. “I just—” He breaks off with a sigh. “Say we tell people. Then they’ll want to know how you or I proposed, and all the other little details that come along with an engagement and a wedding.”

“I proposed to you on the roof of our building, you said yes, neither of us could wait so we went down to the courthouse the next morning for a private exchange of vows?”

Charles levels him with a flat look. “It’ll be a little obvious we’re lying, since you’re in prison.”

“True,” Erik allows slowly.

Heaving a weary sigh, Charles carefully lies back down again. “I’m not opposed to the idea of being married to you, Erik,” he says quietly. “If I was, I wouldn’t want to stay married in the first place. But I don’t like how you went about it and I don’t want to have to tell that story over and over again to my friends and coworkers.”

Without warning Erik takes Charles by the arms and pulls him forward, rolling onto his back at the same time so Charles ends up splayed out on top of Erik, one of Erik’s legs hooked over both of his to keep him anchored in place. “I’m going to make this up to you,” Erik promises, “but in the meantime, you know I’m very happy to be married to you.”

“Don’t get mushy on me,” Charles says, squirming ineffectively on top of him, but Erik merely loops his arms around Charles’ back and grins up at him.

“We’re _mar-ried_ ,” he says in a singsong voice, “you’re my _hus-band_.”

“And _you’re_ about to get decked in the face,” Charles says waspishly, but he can feel a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, try as he might to quash it. He can still hardly believe it himself. They’re married.

Erik’s grin only widens. “When I’m allowed to, I’m going to propose to you so hard.”

“If it’s public and embarrassing, I _am_ divorcing you.”

“So no three-ring circus and firebreathers spelling out _‘Will You Marry Me?’_ with fire while balancing on top of elephants?”

“No.”

“What about a flashmob in the middle of Central Park?”

“How about you don’t get ahead of yourself, since you’re not allowed to propose to me yet anyway?” Charles returns pleasantly, and Erik laughs.

“I’m only teasing,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down Charles’ back for a few moments. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says cautiously into the silence, “but you’ve dropped some weight.”

“Rosie and I go on very long walks,” Charles says noncommittally, which is true enough. Without Erik around to be distracting, Charles usually finishes up all the grading and paperwork he brings home in the evenings much faster. The downside of this is it leaves him with lots of spare time, which has translated into long, meandering walks with Rosie. It also doesn’t help Charles has fallen into the habit of not doing very much for dinner, either—getting takeout for just one person got old after the first couple of weeks, and he had too many boxes of leftovers to keep up with, so he’s switched to easier things like cereal or soup.

“Hm,” Erik says, and even though Charles is still keeping his telepathy to himself he can practically hear the gears turning in Erik’s head.

“This is not an invitation to send your minions over to descend on me with groceries,” Charles says dryly, taking advantage of Erik’s momentary distraction to finally pry himself free from his grasp and rolling back onto the bed beside him.

“Hm,” Erik says again, but he lets the subject drop. “Your semester is almost over, right,” he says casually, “what were you planning on doing during the break?”

“Netflix.”

“I can send you somewhere, if you’d like. Anywhere. The jet is yours.”

With a sigh, Charles shakes his head. “There’s little point in taking a vacation without you.”

Erik sighs too. “Next time I’ll try to time my prison stint better, so I’m not missing every major holiday. I can’t believe I’m missing Valentine’s Day. You know how _important_ that is to me.”

Charles snorts. “How about you do a better job of avoiding prison altogether?” he suggests, even though they both know better. Erik is a mob boss, at odds with the law even when he _isn’t_ killing people. “You’d better win your trial.”

“I will,” Erik says simply, like it’s already fact. “And then we can have make-up Valentine’s Day.”

Charles rolls his eyes because it’s easier than admitting make-up Valentine’s Day might be nice. Judging by the way Erik smirks at him, he possibly already knows.

They spend the rest of Charles’ visit on less emotionally-charged topics, like what new series on Netflix Charles is watching and the terrible daytime TV Erik is stuck with in the prison’s rec room. Charles gives Erik a rundown on his graduating students’ theses, and Erik explains how he pretty much has total control over the prison on the inside, which doesn’t surprise Charles in the slightest. Erik can’t really seem to keep his hands off of Charles while they talk, but at least he seems to be respecting Charles’ hard line of no sex—none of his touches turn suggestive, which might very well be a first.

When it’s time for Charles to leave, Erik helps him back into his coat and walks him to the door. Charles is somewhat reluctant to leave, wishing Erik could just come home with him today rather than three months from now. He’s still mad at Erik but the anger has almost fully converted to annoyance, and his visit today is proof enough it’s hard to be furious with Erik when Erik is right in front of him.

“Enjoy the holidays,” Erik tells him, smoothing down the collar of Charles’ coat after Charles has carefully tucked his scarf in. “I’m sorry I won’t be there. Take care of yourself.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Charles asks reflexively, digging into his pockets for his gloves. “How about ‘don’t do anything stupid to earn yourself a jail time extension’?”

“The trial’s date is set,” Erik says with a small laugh, “it’s not like I’ve already been sentenced.”

“Hm,” Charles says, and they lapse into a small silence. Charles can tell Erik wants to lean in and kiss him, but he’s not sure if he’s ready to allow it quite yet, and he knows Erik can sense it too.

In the end, Erik settles for taking Charles’ hand and pressing a brief kiss to Charles’ knuckles, lips lingering on the ring. “I’ll see you next year, Charles.”

“Goodbye, Erik,” Charles says as the guard outside knocks once on the door before unlocking it and pushing it open, ordering Erik to get back. Charles makes himself turn and walk out of the room without looking back, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other as the door slams shut behind him.

Out in the car, once Charles has passed through security again and Azazel has picked him up in one of the heavily tinted black SUVs, Charles leans back in the passenger seat wearily, feeling far more exhausted than he thinks he probably should.

“You are not a seething ball of rage this time,” Azazel remarks as he navigates the car back out towards the highway. They have to drive out to the prison instead of teleporting thanks to security, but at least it’s only a 45-minute drive from the city. Erik could’ve been staying in the other state prison that’s four hours up the road. “Your visit went well?”

“Mind your own business,” Charles tells him, but there’s little heat to his voice. Spinning the band on his finger around slowly with his thumb, he keeps his eyes glued out the window on all the white snow covering the landscape and tries to think of all the things he needs to get done this weekend. Instead all he can think about is Erik.

Azazel laughs. “It’s my job to mind his business, and now therefore yours.”

“Does that mean I have the power to fire you now?” Charles asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Unfortunately, you signed the prenup,” Azazel says smoothly, wickedly amused, “which clearly stated you aren’t a partner in any of Erik’s businesses, so no. You can’t fire me.”

“Oh,” Charles says, but he gives Azazel a faint grin, “pity.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The January visit doesn’t go so well.

Afterwards Charles doesn’t even remember what initially set them off, but the visit ends with both of them standing on opposite sides of the room, shouting each other down in one of the worst fights they’ve ever had. Erik calls him a hypocrite and backs it up with several detailed, wildly exaggerated examples, while Charles goes down a laundry list of everything that’s ever gone wrong and how it’s all Erik’s fault, somehow equating having to pay a late Redbox fee to being on par with getting shot by Guerrero in the process.

Neither of them are entirely rational, but in the heat of the moment Charles is too incandescently _furious_ with Erik to care.

When he leaves, Charles shakes with anger the entire ride back to the city while Azazel wisely keeps his mouth shut. Once he’s home Charles yanks his ring off and nearly gives into the petty desire of dropping it down the bathroom sink—the only thing that stops him is the knowledge it would hardly be an inconvenience to Erik and would take him less than a second to fish it out again with his powers. Somehow it seems less satisfying when Erik can spare himself from the headache and waste of money it would be to hire a plumber.

Instead Charles shoves the ring back into its little velvet box and buries it in his underwear drawer, which is where he’s been stowing when he isn’t wearing it out to the prison. Erik can go without seeing him until March, Charles decides, slamming the drawer shut hard enough to make Rosie jump.

“He’s an _asshole_ ,” Charles says aloud vehemently, even as he pets Rosie’s head apologetically. Rosie licks his hand, but Charles hardly notices. Let Erik stew for two months for all Charles cares, because he has no desire to go back again.

_Ever_.

 

*

 

“We should probably talk,” Charles admits, tilting his head further back to rest against the wall behind him and shifting his stance to spread his legs a little further apart. Erik has a light dusting of stubble because the prison warden refuses to trust him with a fully sharpened razor even with the blocker on, and Charles shivers at the way it rasps lightly across his skin as Erik mouths at his neck. “We should…” he trails off, losing his train of thought for a moment, “...talk.”

“Definitely,” Erik agrees absently, trailing kisses all the way down to the juncture of Charles’ neck and shoulder, fingers deftly pulling aside Charles’ coat collar. “We should definitely—” he moves up to the spot right behind Charles’ ear that never fails to make Charles turn to jelly, pressing an open-mouthed kiss before finishing, “—talk. In a second.”

Charles sags a little in Erik’s grasp, and Erik slides a knee up between his legs. Fighting to hold back a groan at the pressure on his groin, Charles tightens his grip on Erik’s shoulders. “Just—”

“I’ve got you,” Erik says, and it’s meant to be a quick reassurance but it comes out tender, softer than Charles thinks he meant it to be, but Erik barrels on nevertheless, quickly manhandling Charles around from the wall by the door over to the bed. Charles wiggles out of his coat and tosses it aside before pulling Erik down on top of himself, both of them exhaling at the feeling of another body pressed close.

Erik looks like he’s about to say something more, so Charles pulls him down into a kiss to cut him off. Erik comes willingly, bracketing Charles’ head on the bed with his hands for balance as Charles wraps his arms around the back of Erik’s neck. Erik rocks his body down, rubbing against Charles in a full-body drag and Charles twists away from their kiss to pant. It feels good, even with their clothes on, and for a few mindless minutes all they’re able to do is grind against each other.

Swiping a hand across Erik’s back, Charles spreads his legs as Erik slides a knee up between them again, rolling his hips up to grind against Erik’s thigh. His cock is tight in his jeans, and his body is hot all over, making their little room seem almost too warm. Erik rubs himself against Charles, eyes fluttering shut when his dick catches on Charles’ hip.

Slipping a hand beneath Charles’ sweater, Erik slides a hand up Charles’ belly and chest until his roving fingers find one of Charles’ nipples. Charles swallows back a small sound as Erik begins to swirl the pad of his thumb across Charles’ nipple in a maddening circle, his cock giving a small throb down in his jeans. When he feels Charles jerk, Erik takes it as a sign to get to work on rucking Charles’ sweater up completely and pushes it up to bunch beneath Charles’ armpits before immediately leaning down to lick at Charles’ other nipple.

“Wait,” Charles says breathlessly when Erik’s fingers start fumbling at the button on his jeans. Tamping down on his arousal somewhat, Charles clumsily pushes Erik back, propping himself up on his elbows beneath him. “I’m not having sex with you here.”

“Charles,” Erik groans, hovering over him, “you’re going to kill me.”

“Who knows when they changed the sheets last,” Charles argues, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m sure they have a cleaning service come through after every visit,” Erik says, sounding pained.

Charles snorts. “This is a state prison. The government isn’t paying for a cleaning service. I bet a janitor comes through with some Windex and that’s it.”

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Erik suggests, his hands still resting on the front of Charles’ jeans, “just lie back and think of England.”

“I didn’t come here to just to be a body for you to fuck,” Charles says, narrowing his eyes.

“I would like for you to be equally engaged,” Erik says quickly. “That would be the ideal.”

“No.” Charles’ cock is still almost painfully hard, but he tries his best to ignore it. “You don’t get to fuck me in a _prison_.”

“It’s been _five months_ since I’ve had sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” Charles retorts. “Not my problem.”

“Wait, what does that mean,” Erik says suspiciously. “You were supposed to agree and say ‘yes, it’s been so long for me too, Erik, take me now.’”

“Congratulations, you caught me,” Charles deadpans, “I’ve been having an extramarital affair this whole time.”

“Fine,” Erik says, drawing himself up, “I’ll just have to break every bone in his body when I get out.”

“ _That_ would send me right back into your arms,” Charles says, rolling his eyes.

“Please have sex with me,” Erik wheedles, ignoring him. “You’re not going to get an STD from lying on top of the bed.”

“Who said I was worried about STDs?” Charles demands, even though a tiny corner of his mind irrationally was. Not that Erik needs to know. “I’m not letting you fuck me here. That’s final.”

Erik’s eyes light up. “So I _can_ suck you off,” he says triumphantly, popping open the button on Charles’ jeans and pulling the zipper down.

“I—you—no—yes,” Charles says as Erik’s fingers wrap around his cock, aware he’s babbling as Erik strokes him back to full hardness in less than a second, “god, yes—”

Smirking, Erik backs up, sliding down the bed and settling himself between Charles’ legs and pulling Charles’ jeans and underwear down to his ankles in the same motion. He puts his hands on Charles’ knees and spreads them wide, leaving Charles exposed in front of him. Charles’ cock is sticky with precome, and Charles tells himself it’s the cold air that makes him shiver and not the way Erik is looking down at him.

Before Charles can snap at him to get on with it, Erik ducks down and takes Charles’ cock into his mouth. Falling back on the bed with a soft moan, Charles’ spine arches on its own accord as Erik swallows him down, his legs twitching with the automatic desire to close only for Erik to press them down harder, taking Charles’ cock down his throat.

Without fully realizing it, Charles fists a hand in the thin comforter as his hips give an aborted jerk. “A-ah,” he chokes out, every nerve tingling and muscles jumping as Erik bobs his head, sucking Charles hard and fast. It takes all of his might not to reach out to Erik with his telepathy, keeping his powers coiled firmly in his head, though it only serves to make everything more exciting—like this, he has no way to predict what Erik will do next.

Pulling back off Charles’ cock, Erik begins to lick him until Charles is a quivering mess, working his way down until he’s mouthing at Charles’ balls. Charles tries to twist away mindlessly, the pleasure of being touched after five months of nothing but his own hand in the shower nearly too much to bear, but Erik keeps him pinned in place so all Charles can do is lie there and let it happen.

“Erik,” he says tightly as Erik sucks on his balls, rolling them carefully with his tongue. Charles can feel himself twitching helplessly all over, his knees jumping under Erik’s hands again as he gasps up at the ceiling like a fish. His hands are knuckle-white where they grip the bedspread, his spine arched as far as it can go, so aroused his hips give mini-thrusts as Erik carefully slides his lips off and pulls back.

A moment later he wraps them around the leaking head of Charles’ cock and Charles is gone, a ragged, torn moan ripping its way free from his throat as he comes. Erik takes it like a pro, quickly sinking his mouth further down Charles’ cock and swallowing his come as Charles shoots up into a sitting position only to curl forward helplessly over Erik’s head, draping onto his shoulders and back as he trembles through his release.

For a few seconds all Charles can do is cradle Erik’s head in his lap and pant, every ounce of tension drained from his body leaving him feeling rubbery and weak. Erik’s mouth is still hot and wet around his softening cock, and he knows sooner or later Erik’s going to want to be able to breathe through more than just his nose, but Charles can’t move. His thighs are starting to feel the strain of his position but it’s a good kind of burn, a stretch helping loosen him up further.

Presently Erik slides a hand from Charles’ knee to his belly, gently pushing him backwards. Charles goes with the motion, flopping back on the bed and shivering as Erik gently pulls off his cock, his lips shiny and red. Charles lies still and watches Erik climb over him, straddling Charles’ hips and pulling his own cock out of the front of his pants, fisting himself and giving two long pulls before he comes with a soft groan, spurting over Charles’ exposed, bare stomach.

With a relieved sigh, Erik shifts over and drops down onto the bed beside Charles, lying next to each other while they catch their breath. Erik’s shoulder is pressed against Charles’ and Charles scoots closer, plastering their sides together while Erik gets an arm around him to keep him there.

“That was our first round of married sex,” Erik says at length, his voice hoarse but pleased.

“Don’t ruin the mood,” Charles answers, but there’s no bite to his voice and Erik huffs out a small laugh. Erik’s come is beginning to dry on his stomach and sooner or later it will start to itch, but Charles is feeling too lazy right now to get up, still basking in the afterglow.

“What did you want to talk about?” Erik asks drowsily. He’s taken Charles’ closest hand and linked their fingers together on top of his chest. His thumb strokes across the ring on Charles’ finger absently, and Charles can’t look away from the motion.

“About last time,” Charles begins slowly, “I’m sorry for some of the things I...may have said.”

“Yeah,” Erik says ruefully, “I am too. I didn’t mean most of it anyway.”

“I think it’s better if we just forget all of that. Neither of us were at our best.”

“Yes,” Erik agrees fervently.

“Good,” Charles says. He’s thought about it a lot the past month, and none of it is worth dwelling over or dredging back up. “Anyway, that’s all.”

“Alright,” Erik says. He turns his head sideways, pressing his lips against Charles’ hair for a moment. “Are you ever going to come back into my head?” he asks, his voice light and slightly teasing, but Charles knows he’s serious.

Not answering right away, Charles breathes out a soft sigh and turns his head too, dropping a brief kiss on Erik’s shoulder. “Not while you’re in prison.” He might have just had sex with Erik here, which is something he’d promised himself back in September he _would not do_ , but he still has some measure of pride left. He’s not going to link their minds while Erik is still in prison, especially not when it’ll definitely melt away what little annoyance with Erik Charles still clings to because he doesn’t want Erik to think he’ll give in so easily.

“I miss you,” Erik says, quiet and sincere, but he doesn’t push. “So. One more month left.”

“Rosie’s taken over your side of the bed,” Charles replies, “so I hope you’re ready to sleep on the couch.”

“Rosie’s going to get a crash course in remembering who the boss is, then.”

“She already knows I’m the boss,” Charles says, just to make Erik scoff.

“I’m the _alpha_.”

“Sure you are,” Charles says dryly. “Let me up, I want to wipe your mess off.”

“I’ll get it,” Erik says, letting go of Charles’ hand and rolling to his feet. A little unsteadily, he makes his way over into the tiny bathroom attached to the bedroom and after a few moments returns with a handful of wet tissues. “Sorry, it’s all they have.”

“It’s fine,” Charles says, holding still while Erik carefully wipes the come away and then dabs at the wet spot on Charles’ skin with the dry tissue in his other hand. “You just owe me a stay somewhere that has the fluffiest towels known to mankind.”

“Does that mean I get to take you on a honeymoon,” Erik asks slyly.

“ _No_.”

“I’m kidding,” Erik says, but he’s grinning. He helps Charles pull his underwear and jeans back up, and smooths Charles’ sweater back into place. “There, pressed and proper.”

“Hardly,” Charles says, knowing his hair is probably a mess. “All the security guards are going to know I had sex with you.”

“You’re here on a conjugal visit,” Erik reminds him patiently, amused, “they’ve been assuming that the entire time.”

“Don’t remind me,” Charles says flatly, just to be difficult.

Ruefully, Erik shakes his head before leaning in to kiss Charles softly, slow and careful. Charles lets him, parting his lips to taste a little bit of himself on Erik’s tongue. Eyes shut, Charles is dimly aware of Erik cupping his jaw gently and stroking his cheek while they kiss, touching Charles like he’s something precious and coveted. It makes Charles’ heart ache.

When they part, Erik rests his forehead against Charles’. “I’m serious about making things up to you. Next month I’m going to start, as soon as I’m free.”

He could warn Erik not to push it. He could remind Erik he’s not allowed to do anything extravagant or ridiculous, but Charles knows Erik won’t. It isn’t what he means. Charles wraps his arms around Erik, sliding closer, enjoying the feeling of holding and being held after so many months of being alone. “Alright.”

Erik makes a small pleased sound, shifting to accommodate him so they’re more comfortably pressed together, and they stay like that until it’s time for Charles to leave for the last time.

 

*

 

Azazel picks Erik up outside the courthouse after Erik wins his trial and is free to go, all charges against him dropped and the case dismissed. Brushing past the small flock of reporters waiting outside on the courthouse steps, Erik slides into the back of the town car and Azazel pulls away from the curb as soon as Erik pulls his door shut.

“Congratulations,” Azazel says, grinning at him through the rear-view as he merges into traffic. “You’re a free man.”

“As we knew I would be,” Erik says calmly, fiddling with his cuff links with his powers. He hasn’t stopped stretching them ever since they’d finally taken the inhibitor off him immediately following the end of the trial. It’s a relief to be able to sense all the metal around himself again, like he’s been missing an entire limb all this time, finally able to flex his muscles.

“I picked up what you requested,” Azazel continues, and Erik nods as he glances at the fresh bouquet of roses from Jubilee’s on the seat next to him. Originally Erik had wanted to pick them up personally, but that would require making a stop. “Anything else?”

“No,” Erik says, “take me straight home.”

“Angel has already sent out a blast of texts celebrating your release,” Azazel says, sounding amused, “so if you were planning on a surprise…”

Shaking his head, Erik leans back in the seat and masks his impatience by preoccupying himself with sinking his powers into the infrastructure of the tall buildings around them. “Charles knew I was coming home today. It wouldn’t have been a surprise anyway.”

The ride home doesn’t take long. Erik flips Azazel a two-fingered salute in thanks and gathers up the roses and uses his powers to slam the car door shut behind himself. The building’s doorman greets him as he holds the door to the lobby open for Erik, and it’s like Erik hasn’t been gone at all.

In the elevator, Erik resists the urge to pace and makes himself stand still as it climbs the 96 floors up to their penthouse apartment. Charles hadn’t come to the trial since they’d agreed it would just make things easier for both of them, so Erik hasn’t seen him since last month. He’s not nervous, exactly, but he also doesn’t want to mess this up. Whatever happens when Erik steps back into their house for the first time in six months will set the tone for how they progress from here.

Erik has barely stepped off the elevator when Rosie comes whizzing down the hallway, and he only just manages to get the roses up out of the way before she jumps up to lick his face, her entire body wriggling happily. She does three circles around him before jumping up again, stubby tail wagging.

“Easy, girl, hi,” Erik greets her with a laugh, bending over to pet her. “There’s a good girl. You’re a good girl, Rosie. No, don’t eat these. These are for Charles.”

Licking his hand over and over again, Rosie stands still long enough for Erik to stroke her head a couple of times before she starts circling him again, sniffing at his pants and shoes eagerly. Erik straightens and walks further into the house, knowing Rosie will trot along with him.

Charles is waiting in the living room, standing with his arms folded as Erik walks in. When he sees the roses, he raises an eyebrow. “Roses, really?”

“It’s for make-up Valentine’s Day,” Erik says, and grins when the corner of Charles’ mouth twitches. “You’re wearing your ring.”

He couldn’t help but notice, his powers instantly zeroing in on the band on Charles’ finger. The metal is warm, adjusted to match Charles’ body heat like he’s been wearing it for at least awhile now, and didn’t just put the ring on when he heard Erik come in a couple of minutes ago. Erik runs his powers over it, memorizing every molecule until he’s certain he’d be able to pick it out in the middle of a sandstorm in a desert. Charles’ ring. His _husband’s_ ring.

“I thought that’s what we agreed,” Charles says pointedly, even though Erik can see right through his unaffected act, “we wear them at home when it’s just us.”

Carefully, Erik sets the bouquet of roses down on the back of the couch. Making sure not to trip over Rosie, Erik crosses the rest of the distance left between them until he’s standing in front of Charles, resting his fingertips on Charles’ elbows. “I’m home.”

Nodding, Charles slowly unfolds his arms, sliding his hands along Erik’s so they’re gripping each other gently. Erik feels Charles slip quietly into his head, his presence unfurling steadily and Erik _missed this_ , another part of himself he’s been without for the past six months.

_Welcome home_ , Charles says, warm beneath his initial aloofness, pressing just how glad he is to see Erik directly into Erik’s mind, and Erik is all too happy to return the sentiment tenfold as they both lean in for a kiss.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for "Conjugal Visits"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704130) by [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl)




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